Turning Sigrid

Off the Coast of Concordia, Eleven Hundred Years Before

The moon was a horned curve in a peaceful, clear sky bright with stars, reflecting on the glossy surface of the water.

A stillness had fallen, slackening the sails, and slowing their progress. The wind would pick up, he told himself as he resumed his favorite place on the top deck, leaning against the handrail and gazing out at the dark shadow of Concordia in the distance. The wind always picked up eventually, but he preferred the shallow bottomed boats of his people, where such periods of stillness were easily combatted through the wielding of oars.

Within the darkness of the land, he could see small points of light – hearth fires, funeral pyres, or bonfires? Signs of unrest in the land?

Sigrid came to stand beside him, leaning against the handrail. “You asked for love,” she said softly. “You asked the goddess for love.”

She referred to his first full sacrifice at the temple, though it was a prayer that he had repeated every tim